User blog comment:Brigadier Barty/Tavern of the Rusted Claw/@comment-3135907-20150410175241/@comment-3135907-20160425042323

Scurvin was surprisingly spry for an overweight stoat. The first strike hit him, making a bloody mess out of his left eyebrow, but the second missed as, taking the opportunity the flooring of Asrin provided him, he wormed out of the way and threw himself backward and up to stand, shakily, back to the mast and cutlass drawn. He spat a gob of blood and spit on the deck between them, glaring. "Some mate ye are, Asrin. We went through a lot t'gether, an' if I learned anythin' about you 'twas yer love o' gold." He shook his head, almost a sad motion, his cutlass still pointed at them, daring one of the traitors to try and make a move. "Whose gold brought ye so low this time, Asrin, matey? Slank's gold? Grievan's gold? Oh, oh, I got it...Derklade's gold, may'ap?"